


Ready

by Holde_Maid



Category: Highlander: The Series
Genre: Consent Issues, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Light BDSM, Past Rape/Non-con, Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-28
Updated: 2016-05-28
Packaged: 2018-07-10 18:48:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7000198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Holde_Maid/pseuds/Holde_Maid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Amanda decides she wants Methos, she is in for a surprise.</p><p>Rather PWP, the first story (chapter) has Amanda enter new realms of, well, lust.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Promising

**Author's Note:**

> Rating: Thoroughly adult material with BDSM overtones - If your country's law finds you too young to read any of this, or if you are not comfortable reading adult material, go away. Do it for your as well as for my sake. 
> 
> Disclaimer: Neither the characters used herein nor their world and fictious universe are mine; They belong to Davis/Panzer, so far as I know, and possibly others. I only borrowed them for the fun of it, without any intention of infringing on others' rights.  
> Also, the inspiration to this little rather PWP story came from a scene from: Sex, Lies and Videotape, by Lauren Adams & Naomi Simpson (c) October, 1996 (http://www.seventh-dimension.org/stories/Adams/SexLiesandVideotape.txt)  
> I have copied a couple of lines from that story, if heavily rephrased and changed, and tried to obtain permission to use it that way. However, the addy I had did not work. So please, ladies, let me know if this is not okay with you! Thanks.

Oh yes, she would have her little revenge! He'd pay alright. MacLeod need not be the wiser for it, but he would certainly pay for his remarks.  
 

  


_**READY**_  
  
---  
  
   
 

The queasy rumble in her gut and the powerful vibrations that shook her insides in silent alarm interrupted Amanda’s thought, informing her that an Immortal was near. At last. 

With the feel of the Immortal presence intensifying her nervousness, she began to wonder if this had really been such a good idea.  
She had been here before, but only once, when there had been no other choice.  
Now, there was.

"Methos?" she asked in a small voice. If he didn't hear her...

The door flew open, and a very impatient Methos in boxer-shorts answered: "What!?" The sword in his hand, a modern-looking Ivanhoe, glinted ominously in the dark.

Now it was too late to retreat, so she greeted him brightly, "Hi! Can I come in?" Without waiting for a reply, she went past him, brushing against the skin stretched over his taut muscles. He smelled faintly from burnt incense.

"Are you planning to make a habit of turning up here in the dead of night?" he asked, as he closed the door behind Amanda. He planted himself in front of her. "Because then I'll go and get me a new place to stay at. And I shall make a point of not giving you the address." He contrived to sound angry enough, as usual, but his heart wasn't in it. He hadn’t even raised his sword this time.

"Oh, come on, Methos!" She pouted. "Do relax."

He sighed, dropping his shoulders in exaggerated impatience and putting down the Ivanhoe. "What is it this time, Amanda? What do you want?"  
 

  


_**STEADY**_  
  
---  
  
   
 

"You," she replied simply.

She touched his naked chest unhindered, and her most seductive smile was met with an indulgent level gaze.

She was thinking ahead again: of the bed that stood only three yards or so behind Methos, of what she might do to him there...  
His tenor voice with its intriguingly husky note jerked her back. "Does MacLeod know you are here?" he inquired.

"No." After all, it wasn't as if they were an item. Not at the moment. Mac was just getting involved with ... oh, never mind! All that mattered was that she wanted a little fun, right now, right here. To have that little secret would do, as a small revenge of sorts. "He doesn't need to know. Ever."  
 

  


_**GO**_  
  
---  
  
   
 

Methos regarded her a moment longer, ere he nodded and reached for her hand. He stopped it from grazing over his chest, and guided it to his lips. He kissed first the palm, then the soft spot between each pair of fingers, then each fingertip, all the while keeping his eyes level with hers.

As he was looking into her eyes, suddenly all her self-assurance left her. Somehow, the tables had turned.

He stared at her with cold, hard, piercing eyes that seemed to see far more than the half-light in the room revealed. It was as though he were looking into her soul, opening it like a treasure chest, to catalogue its secrets.

His gaze both upset and electrified her. It made her want him in a more direct sense than she'd thought possible of someone who had hitherto never been anything but her friends’ friend. In fact, she had unthinkingly considered him just another toy boy...  
All of a sudden, this was a far more meaningful moment than she had intended it to be.

Disconcerted, she tried to pull away, but he wouldn't let go. Instead, he seized her other hand and pulled her to him bodily, her nose practically touching his.

"Are you sure you are ready for me?" he asked very quietly, his underlying tone nonetheless menacing. And this time, his heart _WAS_ in it.

Then, as suddenly as it had appeared, the look was gone, and he released her with a smirk on his thin lips. The meaningful moment was over.  
Or had it been meaningful in the first place?

Amanda laughed, and answered his question boldly, "I should think so." There was only one way to prove as much: She reached for his hand.

He let her make contact, but again he took control. At first the gesture was nonchalant, very much 1920ies, with a smile to match. He drew Amanda forward, not to the bed, but towards his kitchen. There he leant against the counter. He looked at her with a smile, then down at their intertwined fingers.

Again he lifted her hand, again he kissed its palm.  
His hands shifted, and before she knew it he had her in a lever hold. What was he up to? He couldn’t possibly want her head ... or could he? Was that why he had asked if Mac...?  
No, no, it couldn’t be.

Moving with agonizing slowness, he turned Amanda around. The joints in her shoulder, elbow and wrist were stretched as far as they would go without breaking. He was too precise for her to do anything other than comply and progress the way he wanted her to.

With her free hand Amanda tried to get to a stool that stood nearby. However, pain shot up and into her elbow like a long sharp needle, and her arm fell to her side of its own account. No go. Her captor was too attentive.

Another quick movement behind her, and she found herself bent over the counter, her one arm still behind her back, while the other was futilely grappling for some weapon, some...  
He caught that, too, in an iron grip. All hope was lost.  
 

   


_**STOP**_  
  
---  
  
   
 

"You are hurting me," she pleaded.

"I am not MacLeod," he reminded her coolly of his lack of chivalry, "and I am NOT hurting you."  
So he knew he hadn’t done any damage. Yet.

  
... Well, he hadn’t done anything whatsoever for what seemed an age now...

  
Dammit, he was holding her this way on purpose, wasn’t he, on the verge of pain. Any movement would cause agony, while keeping still was relatively comfortable. She wiggled. No, she had no control and no way of getting it back.

"But I can, if you like," he warned her darkly. No, he was definitely not MacLeod.

Amanda was frightened. Not angry, not ... well, hardly aroused. She still was, a little. More than a little. But more than anything else, she was frightened. It was the sensible thing to be. Why should she be all that excited? No, no, surely fear was the reason her heart was pounding. Of course.

Methos’ body closed the distance, she felt him bend over her. He spoke quietly into her ear, stopping her racing thoughts dead. "How many men have you had that didn’t want to please you, Amanda?"

 _Not that, please, not that!_  
Panic rose feverishly from her knotted insides, but she suppressed it with the ease of long practice and wrested her mind into analysing its source. She could not see the ancient Immortal's features and his tone was inscrutable. Still, it did not strike her as that of a man bent on killing, or even on ... that.  
She relaxed a little. Only a little. Enough to think about his question. How many had there been? She didn’t know. In the course of centuries she had lost count.  
"Quite a few." Her voice began to betray her terror, she noticed.

He remained perched over her, his lips close to her ear, his body controlling her position. His tone grew slightly softer. "And how many of them could you not persuade to change their minds?"

The memory manifested in her guts as a cold and heavy stone. "Two," she said, her voice now flat with fear.

Suddenly she felt a light touch on her neck. Probably a little kiss, unexpectedly soft and gentle. Then another one. It felt good. Methos’ rough grip on her arms was as hard as ever, but somehow her fear had subsided again. She had been right. He wasn’t going to kill her. Not now.  
His voice softened somewhat more, though it still held an edge. "Is that why you are such a control freak in bed?"

"But..." She stopped and closed her eyes. There was no point in contradicting. Not when you were trying to lie to yourself rather than the 5000-year-old man pressing his body against yours. He had got it right. "How do you know?"

She could feel him straightening up, but there was still no chance of escape. He kept tight control of her body, stretching the muscles at the back of her arms painfully, whenever she tried to move.  
By Jove, he was _NOT_ MacLeod, nor was he like any other man she knew. Duncan would sense it when he had stirred the horrid memories polluting her soul, and would retract. It had taken long for him to notice it at all. Methos had found out in how many weeks? Well, maybe months. Yet he not only recognised her suppressed fright, he calmly inflicted it. Controlled it, even. Somehow he had contrived to shift it, inching it nearer to lust. For now.  
"I have watched you, sweet Amanda," he calmly explained.

She gave a brittle little laugh.  
Feeling completely at a loss, she finally asked, "What do you want?"

"You," he replied simply, echoing her own words of only a few minutes ago, and juxtaposed that with an addendum: "On my terms."

Amanda tensed. She had never been in a position like this before, had never been held on such a delicate edge between raw terror and, yes, sheer arousal...  
And what if she liked it? -- That, she decided, was the most frightening thought of all. -- What then?  
 

   


_**AND GO**_  
  
---  
  
   
 

In complete silence she began again to try and unobtrusively change the position of her right arm to get free -- only to learn that the way it was twisted behind her back limited the strength in the limb too much. She’d have to get him to teach her that move sometime. If she lived.

"I am stronger, faster, tougher, smarter, in control." He paused to add weight to his words -- she knew that trick only too well. Even so, it was working.  
"Answer me honestly this time: Are you _SURE_ you are ready for me?"

Bereft of words, she shook her head.

All of a sudden his voice was soft and friendly again. "Would you like to find out?"

She wanted to say no. Yes. No.  
Yes.

Something gave way, the pressure lifted, and she was free. Methos had stepped back so swiftly he had caught her unawares.

She looked back at the other Immortal before she stood and turned to face him -- a suspicious habit that elicited a brief sarcastic smile from him. He was standing a few yards away from her, his posture wary, his eyes attentive.

When she didn’t move, he eyed her shrewdly and stepped closer again. Gently he touched her arm. "Go home, Amanda."

Reluctantly she allowed herself to be propelled out by the door.  
 

   


_**REWIND**_  
  
---  
  
   
 

She had thought about it.  
A lot.

Of course Methos had been right to drive her out.  
If he had finished the lesson that he had been ready to teach her, it would have been a very different matter from the little fling she had had in mind at the time. It had been right to leave. At the time.

But now, weeks later, things were different.

She had gotten Mac’s blessing (which she hadn’t even had to wheedle it out of him, strange to say.) And she had made her decision in cool blood, without being dripping wet. Well, _MOSTLY_ without being wet.  
The memory of those few minutes at Methos’ place had come to haunt her, time and again. What if she had said yes? What would have happened? What would it have been like?

She had to find out.  


  


_**PLAY**_  
  
---  
  
  


This time she had called ahead. She had told him what she wanted, in his own blunt words; the ones she had been unable to forget. "I want you, Methos. On your terms." He hadn’t answered right away, and at length she had been forced to ask: "Will you have me?"  
  
"Come to my house." Without any further ado he had rung off.  
  
Now she was back at the scene of her defeat.  
Methos opened the door and nodded at her in silent approval. She was wearing the same tight black leather mini-skirt above black high-heeled leather boots. She had even chosen the same kind of bra beneath her off-white shirt and the long black leather jacket. He looked content.  
He, too, was wearing the same sort of attire -- only his boxer-shorts were tighter and black. And there was no sword within sight this time.  
  
He waited for another moment, then took hold of her neck. She bit down on her pride and permitted him to pull her in softly, asserting his authority.  
She stepped into the house, inhaling the scent of the room. It smelled of old books and food he must have eaten recently. Something with milk, butter and vanilla, probably sweet and melting... She could almost taste it.  
  
He closed the door behind her, his fingers still on her neck, his body close to hers. Warmth encompassed her. Obviously he had turned up the floor heating this time. Orange candles bathed the room in a soft glow. That he had paid attention to such small details made her feel welcome. She felt the tiny cold knot beneath her breast-bone a bit less distinctly now.  
Meanwhile, Methos moved around her and to her side, almost like a dancer. His hand slipped down now, until it came to rest on the small of her back. Then, with the air of an old-fashioned gentleman, he indicated the kitchen counter.  
  
Damn. He really knew how to play this game. It was up to her to assume the position he had forced her into, last time. Once more she needed to swallow both pride and fear.  
On slightly unsteady feet she stepped forward. Her hands touched the wooden top of the counter. She relished the smooth surface beneath her fingertips as she leaned forward. It felt cool against her arms and forehead . She arched her back and lifted her buttocks enticingly. Soon Methos would stand close behind her again...  
  
Methos, however, had not moved.  
He seemed to be waiting for something. For what?  
  
She arched her back even more to bring her bottom to his attention, but she still couldn’t hear him move any closer. What was the matter? She looked back at him.  
The tall lean man was resting against one of the whitewashed walls, watching her.  
When he caught her eye, he told her to take _exactly_ the same position as last time and then keep still.  
  
Exactly the same...  
  
Was the guy mad? She’d certainly not debase herself and ...  
Her mind was ablaze with anger, she wanted to grab the next thing she could reach and hurl it at the dark-haired Immortal.  
Yet she didn’t. All she had done was jerk her head back angrily, breathe hard through widened nostrils and stare at a pale reflection of his silhouette on the tiled portion of the wall she was facing.  
  
For a long while, nothing at all happened.  
  
The truth was, she still wanted this. Him. She couldn’t tell if it was curiosity or true desire, or something else altogether. But a part of her honestly wanted to comply, and it was quickly gaining ground.  
Her breathing had returned to almost normal. She felt a bit ridiculous, standing here in her leather mini-skirt, facing a wall. She had come thus far. Why not go that one step further? Why, indeed?  
  
She closed her eyes for a brief moment, then she did as he had told her. She leaned over the counter, her forehead resting on the smooth top, her arms crossed behind her back.  
  
Finally, she felt him approach. She couldn’t hear his naked feet on the tiled floor, but the sense of his Immortal presence grew more urgent again.  
It was difficult to keep completely still. She was nervous, and she had to remind herself twice that she had decided to trust him. Hopefully she would live not to regret that.  
  
Where would he touch her? And how?  
Ah, yes; her leg. His thumb slid along the rim and up under the leather of her mini-skirt, while his fingers explored the shape of her thigh.  
  
She jumped when his fingers touched her wrists.  
Having pulled them apart involuntarily, she felt both his hands disappear all of a sudden. "Assume your prior position, please," Methos demanded in an oddly colourless voice. He hadn’t bothered to grab her, no, he had let go completely. Obviously she was to offer herself up to him, just like that.  
Amanda took a deep breath and held it. No, she had come this far, she had long made her choice, and she was not backing down now. She released her breath and crossed them again.  
  
As soon as she relaxed, she felt Methos’ legs against her own and his fingers closing lightly around her wrists. At the same moment she noticed a cool hand across her neck. Would he take her now at last? Please? She arched her back to rub her private parts against his.  
  
However, she lost contact with his boxer-shorts-clad body altogether, as the tall man behind her stepped back yet again. "Uh-uh," he reprimanded. "I do the taking. You are restricted to the receiving end."  
He stern voice appeared to release juices somewhere inside of her. She felt giddy. It was hardly bearable, standing here this way, trying not to move when all she wanted was to grab him, rid him of his nice cotton underwear and do unspeakable things to him.  
"Whenever you try to take over," Methos’ voice continued quietly, "I will remove myself. Do you understand?"  
  
Her foot stomped on the floor all by itself, futile sign of her frustration. She knew she wanted this. Wanted him. Wanted ... well, anything but his stopping. And damn him, he knew that only too well. The truth was, she was wetter now than before he had spoken. But did that mean she could not bear not to do what he wanted?  
  
Yes, it did.  
For the first time in ages, she was the one that was going to succumb. "Your terms", she stated ruefully. "Then what _may_ I do?"  
  
"Respond. Reply. Relax." He sounded amused. Perhaps it was because he realised just what he was doing to her?  
She didn’t care anymore, as soon as she felt him approach, and his hands took hold of her hips. He pulled her back and something slipped between her thighs. Judging by its size and rounded feel, it had to be his knee. It rubbed against her.  
Amanda licked her lips. She wouldn’t give him the easy satisfaction of a moan. Not yet. Not...  
  
A sigh escaped her, when the pressure between her legs disappeared.  
A hand stroked her back now. Then at last the longed-for touch of his fingers returned to the seam of her mini-skirt, slipped underneath it. A slightly metallic noise and the lighter feel of the skirt told her he was opening the zip. Leather slid over her hips, fell down and pooled around her high-heeled boots. Deliciously teasing fingers slid between her thighs. They left a trail of yearning flesh.  
  
She would have loved to spread her legs, but her feet were caught in the leather circle of her skirt. She dared not kick it out of her way. At least he would not stop, if she kept still. Anything else was bearable.  
Having been denied a more active release, Amanda let her tongue glide over the sensitive inside of her lips, her teeth, even the smooth surface of the kitchen counter.  
  
Meanwhile, the teasing didn’t stop or grow any more satisfying. Relentless finger-tips slid over the seams in her tights, their touch maddeningly light and full of promise. He had not taken hold of her wrists again, had he, but was stroking her back and her centre, through flimsy fabric?  
He was using a perverse kind of quiet authority against her -- like reins made of a single silk thread. Why did he keep her waiting? Why drive her mad like this?  
But that was just it. He was driving her mad with a desire she hadn’t known in centuries. His doubtless experienced hand was touching her with the lightness a shy youth would have employed. Tickled her love-lips and sculpted only her thighs with the vehemence she so longed to feel between them. Made her whimper, damn him, helplessly on fire as she was.  
Through the satin shirt she felt his nails on her back, again too light, too ... too controlled. He was still calmly in control. He ought to be the one who was going crazy with sheer lust, not she.  
  
She bit into her lips. She wasn’t going to beg. Oh no, not she.  
  
All of a sudden, he yanked her upright, pulling her around. His coldly glittering eyes first went to her mouth, which was exhaling in a surprised gasp. Then they met her eyes, no doubt noticing her flushed cheeks and the widened pupils. So he could certainly tell he had won another point.  
He smirked.  
  
Their eyes locked, he reached behind her and guided her hands backwards, until they connected with the top of the kitchen counter again. He wrapped them around its rim, his eyes still level with hers.  
  
She held on to the smooth rounded edge, determined to do what he demanded this time around. She put on her most alluring smile. Surely smiling was allowed?  
  
He didn’t complain or retreat. Her smile, however, was merely rewarded with a condescendingly amused grin, before the well-muscled top-less man in front of her regarded the length of her body instead.  
A finger-tip tilted her head backwards, until she could see only the wall-cabinets and the tiles underneath them.  
  
He was kissing her throat now. The most vulnerable part of her Immortal body. The usual uneasy feeling mingled well with her excitement.  
Meanwhile a light touch trailed down slowly from the tip of her chin and along her larynx. It dipped into the little hollow at the bottom of the throat, then followed the contour of her collar-bone and her shoulder, ending up on her side.  
  
_Touch it!_ she thought urgently as she felt him close in on her bosom. She wanted her nipple to be stroked, licked... She wanted to feel whether he’d be rough or gentle. Part of her even hoped he’d be cruel, either sating the insane hunger in her loins or a least crushing it.  
  
But no such luck. He merely rounded her breast, and started suckling on her ear-lobe.  
  
The light contact widened; surely now it was his palm that glided down her side, down the front of her thigh and up again, along its inside and ... yes ... yes, homing in at last ... and ...  
  
She whimpered when he stopped short. _Just one more inch! Please!_ her insides were screaming, while she felt her head being tilted back into its regular position by his free hand.  
She met his eyes, unable to arrange her face in some attractive expression in time.  
  
Genuine caring in his voice, he asked: "What do you want, right now?"  
  
"You." Couldn’t he tell, on the strength of her rugged breath alone, not to mention the noises she hadn’t managed to keep herself from making?  
  
"Stop flattering me, Amanda. You do not want me." What? Could a 5000 year old Immortal possibly be that stupid? "So, what do you want?"  
  
Fine. She'd put it another way. "I want more of what you’re doing to me."  
  
To her utter surprise, Methos bowed, 18th century style, with a chivalrous smile. Neither was anywhere near typical of him. "You shall have what you ask."  
As he spoke, his tone changed, hardened, turned the words into something of a threat. It sent a delicious shiver down her arched back. At the same time his gaze held a promise that touched her centre like a rough caress without any detours.  
  
He put his hands around her face, but made no move to kiss her. Instead the hands slipped down to her shoulders, pushing them back so she had to brace herself, then down over her satin shirt. This time he wasn’t skirting her breasts, although he didn’t linger, either. The pressure from his palms -- a real, direct touch, at last -- moved on down over her flat belly. It proceeded to her hips and around them to her bottom.  
  
Suddenly he yanked down her tights.  
Amanda jumped like a teenager, nearly yelping, even though she had been hoping for him to do something of the kind. She was more than ready for him.  
  
Only, Methos did not continue his direct approach. He stalled yet again.  
He was watching her face with unmistakable delight. The bastard was having fun, because she was helpless with desire!  
It should have felt humiliating. Or something. All the same, it did not. Maybe it was the caring tone he had used a minute ago. It was still ringing in her ears: _What do you want, right now?_ Her features, her baited breath, her trembling body surely all proclaimed the answer only too clearly: She wanted for him to continue his quest.  
  
For a moment or two she thought he would kiss her. His face got so close to hers she could feel his breath on her own lips, but again he did not touch them. He only leaned into her, his head resting on her shoulder, and dug his fingers into her buttocks. The passionate touch of a man in sexual need was in clear disagreement with the casually controlled features she had seen only half a second ago. Which part would keep the upper hand? WHICH?  
  
And then at last his right hand moved again, went closer to where Amanda had been hoping for it to get to eventually over the past few weeks.  
  
_No!_  
Again he was skirting her private parts, his fingers sculpting her flesh all around them, but barely touching the juices she could feel seeping through her panties...  
His hand dug a path into her soft flesh. It travelled up across her right bottom cheek, following first her muscles and then the hipbone, until it ended up on the small of her back.  
There she felt the hand turn. Methos let his fingers slide underneath her dark-red lace underpants and down by an inch or two. He placed his middle-finger between her buttocks.  
  
He stood straight again to gaze at Amanda’s face. Briefly the ghost of a smile flashed in his eyes, then his head was back again on her shoulder.  
Without hesitation, Methos’ middle-finger now moved further south. The pressure did not lift when it crossed her anus, just moved over it as though it were not there and then on to the penny-sized naked spot of super-sensitive skin before...  
  
And yet again he did not touch her centre, only the spot just behind it. His finger-tip pressed into the skin and tantalizingly pulled it back, away from her genitals.  
Though his touch wasn’t rough, she could feel the pull all the way to her mound. It was a tiny motion -- she could see it in her mind’s eye: He pulled suddenly, briefly, and then slowly let loose again.  
And pulled again. And relaxed the muscle gradually again.  
And pulled...  
  
She felt sure that soon he would slip, because surely a drop of her moisture must run that way, too, when he relaxed.  
And pulled.  
  
She heard herself moan. It seemed like a distant sound, uttered by a stranger, so concentrated was she on what she felt in that tiny spot between her long legs. She hadn’t so much as noticed that by now her panties were resting on her thighs.  
  
He stopped, and Amanda froze, for fear he might remove himself completely.  
  
He didn’t.  
Instead, Methos’ fingers began to wander, closer to her centre, but still not quite touching it. He dug his finger-tips into the flesh around it, massaging it in tiny circles. Then he took her labia between his fingers. Rubbing them gently, his hand meandered its way to her front.  
  
Methos gathered her wrists in the loose grip of his free hand and moved behind her for better access.  
  
Amanda couldn’t contain herself and breathed, "Yes."  
  
Fortunately he seemed not to mind, or else he hadn’t heard. At any rate, his touch went on to her mound. And finally his hand cupped her private parts like a protective shield.  
After an agonizing moment of waiting, she felt it increase its pressure. He was gripping the whole area, reminding her of the strength of his sword-arm.  
  
More, she wanted more! Please?  
  
A moment later the pressure was gone, and she felt what had to be a single finger being pulled back all along the line from her mound to the small of back. The irreverent finger-tip left a fiery trail. For all she knew it could have been filled with blood as easily as with her juices, neither mattered, right now. Only his touch did.  
  
There was no warning.  
All of a sudden, two of his fingers were inside her, if only at the entrance. He kept still there, while his thumb stroked over the skin of her labia.  
  
She knew she had to move, if she wanted to feel more of him -- but if she did, he would pull away! Her legs were shaking by now, her feet hurt in the high-heeled boots, and her whole body was yearning to be made to scream with lust.  
And the quiet man behind her held the key.  
And refused to use it.  
As yet.  
  
Suddenly he pushed into her. Only a tiny bit, then he kept still again. She moaned once more, and one of her knees almost gave.  
  
Very slowly, he removed his fingers, released her wrists and stood in front of her. The authority in his voice was almost as pronounced as it had been at the start. "Stay like that."  
He went down on one knee in front of her and opened her left boot. He took her leg just under the knee, lifted it and pulled the boot off her foot. Then he repeated this sequence with her left leg. He undressed her with formal care, like a priest performing a service to some pagan fertility goddess, until at length she was naked.  
  
Methos stood. For an instant he just stood there, looking straight into Amanda’s eyes, and again she felt more naked than the absence of clothing could account for. With a smirk he extended his arm to close her eyes.  
  
Amanda couldn’t have asked better, really; She wanted to relish Methos’ touch with undivided attention.  
  
At first he only took her hands and led her forward. Step after step she allowed herself to be guided on -- it seemed an awfully long way. He stopped and, lifting her bodily, sat her on something soft. His bed?  
Then he planted his palm squarely over her breastbone and pushed her back until she lay down.  
He spread and massaged her legs in long, slow strokes.  
  
Amanda licked her lips and let out a quivering breath.  
  
His mouth kissed the inside of her thigh. Then, unexpectedly direct, she felt his tongue add moisture to her wetness.  
At first it tickled, but then he started to suck.  
  
She uttered a long throaty sigh.  
Her arms went up along her body. She caught hold of a pillow and squeezed it hard with both hands. It felt good to release some of the tension while Methos’ teeth nibbled on her labia.  
  
At last his finger-tip returned to the hairless little spot between anus and vagina.  
He started with small circles of insufferably gentle pressure; soon Amanda made desperate little noises. She heard his chuckle, but she was way beyond caring whether or not he was chalking up another point in his favour. All that mattered was that he continued.  
  
Which he didn’t.  
  
Amanda froze. Thank goodness she felt him again a second later, this time lightly stroking her flesh. Short little strokes all the way from the fold of her behind to her mound. Then back again, a shade more energetic. His fingers wandered to her front again...  
  
Gradually the pressure increased. Amanda found herself mentally calculating just how many more times he would make this trip back and forth before his touch would finally satisfy her.  
  
He broke the pattern and spiralled closer and closer to her centre, ending up on the lower end of her labia. His fingers slid between them. A knuckle slithered up the little fold on one side of her clit, then down the little fold on the other side. Next he dipped into her. He repeated the tiny round-trip and dipped deeper. And again, driving his finger into her very slowly, a tiny bit deeper, before pulling it out fast. And again, somehow more intense. And again. And again...  
Her moans had grown louder. She heard herself mutter "Yes" and "please" and "Oh yes, that’s it" in at least three languages. "Take me."  
  
Oh, no.  
That had been a mistake.  
  
All of a sudden, his fingers were gone, and with them the sweet expectant tension, while his calm voice told her "No."  
  
She dug her fists into the pillow in silent desperation, not yet daring to move, speak or even open her eyes.  
  
"Not yet", Methos added coolly. "Remember: My terms."  
  
At her "Yes!" nothing happened. She was just about to open one eye, when suddenly she felt him return. To her ankle.  
He was stroking the skin of her foot-wrist now. Then warmth and pressure from his other palm mirrored that. Each hand encircled an ankle, pushing them further apart. A moment later she felt them on her thighs and a sucking mouth right between them. Yes, yes. Yes. Yes! YEEE...  
No.  
His mouth was gone again.  
Once more he touched her, and soon she recognised the rounded thickness as his member that was pushing, pushing, pushing ... and retreating. Pushing. Pushing ... and retreating. Pushing, gloriously, forcefully pushing its way inside her.  
  
Her mound at last made contact with his body. He pulled back and pushed into her.  
As hairy tissue collided violently -- wonderfully violently -- with her clit and labia, she all but screamed. She stuffed her fist into her mouth and bit on it, hard.  
  
He pulled back.  
Pushed a heady wave through her body. Pulled back, turning her want into an almost palpable void inside her. Filled it and pushed. PUSHED.  
  
Her fist could barely smother her lustful scream.  
And then, just as he was pulling back yet again, she came, her mind going blank and her body jerking wildly.  
  
When she became aware of her surroundings again, she felt Methos slowing down fairly quickly. She wasn’t completely sure if he, too, had come, but by his panting and his motions it seemed very likely. Damn. She had missed the one moment during which he had lost control.  
  
He rolled off her and mumbled: "A penny for your thoughts."  
  
"That was the best sex I’ve had in ... in centuries." She honestly meant it.  
  
"Any man can give you that," he told her tiredly.  
  
Sarcastically she shot back a brief "Oh, yeah!"  
  
He sat up, ruffling his hair. He said nothing for a while, just looked at her. At length he asked: "You don’t understand, do you?"  
  
"I can see you taught me a lesson today, Methos. But I’m not so sure which or why."  
  
"There are many names for it. A currently popular word for it is yin."  
  
Amanda filed that away for future reference and went back to the part she had _really_ wanted answered. Trust him to evade that one! "Why, Methos?"  
  
He smirked. "Because I kind of like MacLeod." It was impossible to tell if he was joking. Amanda suspected that he was not.  
  
"So?" she briefly asked.  
  
"You’re ready." He smiled at her confusion and added, "You’ll see." And that was all she ever got out of him.  



	2. Promise Fulfilled

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Also fairly PWP: Between the sheets, a few new alleys have opened up to Duncan and Amanda

  


## Prologue: **Methos**

  


Somewhere in Southern Germany, Methos was swaying to the music. "In Extremo" were just starting their concert. The singer’s voice was addressing death, "Tod, bitterer Tod! Du Räuber nahmst die Liebste mir und lässt mich leiden fern von ihr" –- _death, bitter death, you robber have taken away my love and leave me suffering, separated from her._ The raspy voice drove the lyrics home with a curious mixture of fragility and cold steel in its tone. 

Methos had expected a certain melancholy, yes. He had expected the band to trigger memories, yes, for they mixed Medieval instruments into their goth rock. But he had come here for sentimental reasons of a different kind. He had expected amusing memories, not the thought of Alexa. 

How many months had passed by? It didn’t matter. His heart still longed for her, and the lyrics brought alive all he had felt at seeing her die. The pain had barely lessened since. He even had tears in his eyes now, ridiculous and futile. Irrepressible. No, not the tears. He could have repressed the tears with ease, but what was the point? The pain would still be there. Would still tear at his entrails like a hungry bear. 

_Alexa._   


The song was over. He tried to concentrate on the harp intro of the next one, played by an incongruously burly man. The fine fabric of its tune, however, only flooded him with images of Alexa’s dear face, her slim body, her smile... 

With an effort he hauled his mind back. He needed something else to think of. 

Something amusing. Amanda. Yes, Amanda was a good start. She had been fun. Even better: Amanda and Duncan. The vixen and the passionate boy-scout. A world of possibilities to the inquiring mind. He smirked. 

He wondered if Duncan had yet been blessed with the fruits of the one night Amanda had shared with Methos. Duncan hadn’t looked that way when he had last seen him...   


  


##  **Duncan**

Duncan MacLeod sat up in his bed, moving slowly. Careful not to wake the woman beside him he got up. He tip-toed into the bathroom, closed the door and stepped into the shower. 

Ah, cold water, cleansing and refreshing. Chilling even. Now warm water. It felt hot, his skin screamed alarm at him until it got used to the temperature. He enjoyed the shower’s thousandfold caress for a moment. Then he covered his body in lather and waited for the soap to be washed off again. Another lick of cold water, and he stepped out of the shower. 

The towel: another modern comfort. A cloth washed in the rivers of the Highlands and hung to dry did not gain this fluffy quality. The tartans of his childhood had never been as soft on his skin as the terry-cloth that dried it or as the satin shirt he was now slipping into. He had loved them, anyway. 

Duncan smiled indulgently at his own idle ponderings, as he zipped and buttoned up his black pair of flannels. 

He re-entered the bedroom on tip-toe to glance at Amanda. As he neared her, the innate sense of danger grew stronger again. He moved slowly, for fear he might wake her after all, even though they were both used to the other’s presence. 

Finally he stood by the bed. Beautiful as ever, she was snoring faintly. He smirked. Yes, he loved her. Of course there were times when she made you want to strangle her. But whatever happened, they always ended up together after a while, for another few weeks or months. They would never have forever together, probably not even a mortal lifetime. Only an on-and-off love-affair. Parts of their personalities and their lifestyles just were incompatible. 

How innocent she looked to the undiscerning eye. 

No, Amanda wasn’t innocent. Nor was she malevolent. Mischievous, yes. Afraid, beneath a fat layer of brazen cheek, yes. Neither was a reason to judge her. Evil, however, nay, evil she was not. And at the end of the day, he could not deny that he loved her. Loved her for the fragility, the fear shimmering down in the deep sea of her eyes. For the infinite trust she put in his strength. She made him feel strong. Stronger perhaps than he was. Strong, light-hearted and protective. He smiled. 

Little had changed since he had first met Amanda. She was still beautiful, amusing, sexy, manipulative, and a fair to middlin’ amount of trouble. It had taken him a while to realise that her troublesome manipulative streak had grown from the deep angst she hid so well in the bottomless pools of her eyes.

Over the centuries he had come to first sense and then actually see it.

By now he even saw it when her eyes were closed. In the ever-present faint tension of her abdomen. In her tendency to wake when he moved during the night. In the way she couldn’t bear not to feel in control. Not even when she lay in his own trusted arms.  


  


##  **Amanda**

"Her name is Midori, and no," – Duncan walked up to her seat by the window to stress his point – "she’s not a fool."

"But she sent you away!"

"So? You frequently send me away, too."

"Oh, Duncan!" Amanda exclaimed impatiently. "That’s totally different! If I were mortal I’d never let you go!" Of course they both knew that she wasn’t being quite truthful, but she could rely on Duncan to politely overlook that detail. She did, as always.

And yet... Something at the back of her mind was scratching on the door of her conscious, asking to be admitted.

For the moment she shoved it aside. Right now, she wanted to enjoy Duncan’s return from Japan. If that meant allowing him to talk of his latest affair, fine. "So if she’s not a fool, then what is she?"

"Beautiful." Of course. All his women were. Even those that weren’t. "Intelligent. Honourable." _Oh, ye gods!_ "Cute." His smile was reminiscent and amused now.

Beautiful and cute? This sounded interesting. She’d better ask. "Cute?"

"She had these little ways, you know... - You’ve seen origami, the way it should ideally be done?"

"No."

He looked as if he doubted it, but proceeded anyway, "Ones hands should be in constant fluid motion. No pauses, no hesitation, no hectic changes in pace. When she folds clothes after washing, she has that same flow to her movements. I would sit and watch her fold underwear; It made her nervous and she ended up folding something the wrong way around." He stopped, smiling sadly. "It was great fun, while it lasted. But I’m still a gaijin."

Amanda put her hand on his arm. "I know." Good. She had established physical contact, the first step to physical comfort. This was more along her line than all this talking. Good thing she was still wearing nothing but a thin silk robe. On her part, there was nothing between them but a tug on its silken belt.

Duncan guided her hand to his mouth and kissed it.

"You like the oddest things about your women, Duncan." She let him draw her to his broad chest and rested her cheek against it. As she had expected, he put his chin on the top of her head, embracing her. From this warm, protected spot she asked, "What is it you like about me?"

"I can’t tell you that," he laughed.

"Why?"

"You’d take my head if I did," he teased and tickled her side.

The tickling was probably meant to take her mind off the subject. Since she loved being tickled, she decided to play along. She tickled him back. His counter made her dodge out of the embrace, jump off the window sill to start attacking and at the same time prepare her retreat. As soon as he had escaped her tickling fingers, Duncan gave chase.

She led the chase to the bed and allowed him to weigh her slim body down with his own muscular one. Her mouth met his in a hot kiss and...

As Duncan pinned her arms down to raise his head, she experienced a brief flash-back to Methos’ bed, reliving the kiss he had denied her. 

And then she was back, just in time to watch Duncan realise that he was holding her down. She could see the horror in his eyes, and she could see it melt away again as he noticed she wasn’t tensing, but opening up. There was no fooling Duncan. Not anymore. Not in bed, anyway. 

This time, she had not panicked inside. This time the submission wasn’t fake, she had indeed stayed calm. How odd. 

Methos was right: She was ready. 

Slowly, very slowly, Duncan bowed down and kissed her again. The kiss was a question. She answered it shyly. Yes, she was ready to succumb to him. Finally, after three and a half centuries, she was able to relish his taking control. And curious to see what he’d make of that. 

An incredibly happy smile spread on Duncan’s features and made his olive skin glow. It shone through like a light behind a thin sheet and surely even lit up her own features, as well. 

Maybe he was thinking that at last he could relax? 

Probably not. He wasn’t the selfish type. After all, he had put a lot of effort into finding out that some motions frightened her, even though she had tried to brush those moments of suppressed panic aside as usual. No, he was probably thinking of all the new ways of giving pleasure this opened up for him. 

His large hands had been spanning her upper arms. Now he moved them, and his fingers slid across the armpits and along the insides of her arms. He controlled them gently, sensuously. At the same time his legs closed hers and brought to mind that she could barely move without him giving way. 

His kiss was more demanding now, filled her, searched her, seared through her like a fire-storm. Part of Amanda was still reluctant to give in, but.... Feeling Duncan’s animal energy was so delicious a lure that the hesitant voice lost the battle against the exhilarating tumult in her guts within instants. 

Amanda sighed her desire. She wanted to open Duncan’s denims. Wanted to rip the shirt from his powerful shoulders. To touch him. But he was still guiding her hands along the bed-sheets somewhere above her head, while he kissed her neck. Amanda stretched it like a cat that offers its belly to the stroking hand. 

Duncan bit her nape tenderly, licked it and chuckled. Apparently he was still overjoyed. Strong arms drew her hands to her shoulders. His hands were clasping hers now. Resting his weight on them, he sat up, his bottom on her hips. 

His fingers were drawn over her shoulders, then up her neck to hold and stroke her face. She had her eyes closed now. Duncan’s intense, yet delicate touch enshrouded her mind, warmed her all around, made her lose track of time and space. She was floating in a sea of warmth and trust. 

Leaning in again, he kissed her deeply. As usual one arm held her, while the other hand stroked her hair. He had always had this caring way of kissing women. Such a sweet boy. 

Realising – with a light pang of guilty displeasure – that her hands were now free, she embraced him in return. Her fingers slipped under his shirt. Scratching lightly, they followed the parallel lines of his strong muscles up and down his back. 

He straightened up again, and her fingers lost contact. She let them drop to his thighs.  
After a moment of hesitation she slipped her silk robe down over one shoulder. Now the other. His fascinated gaze slowed her down. She wanted to make him wait. Only a little bit. Just to taste her own power. 

At last there was nothing for it; She had to wiggle to get her arms free. Another shrug and a little twisting, and the garment slipped off. She could use her hands again. As she stroked over Duncan's denim-clad knees, however, he captured her wrists.  
Once more she was reminded of Methos. Of how he had taken her hands, had kissed and held them in a merciless grip. The memory flashed through her body like a single spark -- white-hot and rousing, but far too short to satisfy. It left a thin trace of fire from the fluttering tips of her lungs downwards, to where a hidden fire glowed already. 

Her breath quickened, as Duncan slowly turned her wrists until her palms faced upwards. He was watching her intently. There was no hiding place from his probing eyes. And for once, she WANTED them to see, to probe, to discover what she couldn't bear to reveal by herself. Her core. 

He kissed her palms, his eyes never leaving hers. Then he worked his way up the length of her right arm, on the soft inside. His lips sucked on her skin, made themselves felt, if chastisely. Her left arm lay as if forgotten, yet held by his side and controlled casually.  
His slow work was interrupted by mischievous glances that gauged her impatience, but eventually he reached her shoulder and softly bit into it. 

"Harder", she heard herself say. 

His chuckle recurred. "No."  
Unlike Methos', Duncan's voice held humour and a strong sense of joy. All the same, he meant what he said. For now he would deny her the control she would normally have seized at every opportunity, with the desperate grip of a drowning child -- and which right now she was ready to give over. Even though she didn't quite know how. 

Duncan's tongue touched her shoulder lightly. A moment later his lips followed the contours of her collarbone and then slipped down to her breast. He sucked on her nipple, still holding both her hands. He moaned, and she could feel the vibrations go through her breast. 

He switched to the other breast to suck and lick briefly. As he did, he brought her hands closer to her torso. Then his head went up to seek her gaze. He looked at one of her hands meaningfully. His weight, resting on his arm, pinned it down. "How far do you want me to go?" 

"All the way," she claimed breathlessly, brushing her doubts aside. 

"Liar." His voice was a gentle caress. He smiled. Ye Gods, how clearly these eyes saw through her! He had learned quickly, indeed. "The truth, Amanda," he demanded, his eyes part strict, part mischievous and teasing. 

"Don't know." She was getting deliciously breathless, she noted. "Play by ear." 

He nodded in silence. For a while he regarded her, as if searching a more satisfactory answer in the depths of her eyes.  
Finally he spoke again. "Trust me."  
His left hand released her and went to her brow. His fingers slid down over her eyes, making her close them. His hand rested there just long enough for her not to open her lids again instantly. He wanted her like that. 

With a sigh, Amanda breathed her silent consent. 

Duncan's weight lifted off her other wrist, as well, and now it left her legs and hips. The thin girdle of her silk robe was opened. Would he ...? No, he was getting up, leaving the bed... She wanted to open her eyes and look. 

_"Trust me"_ , he had said. Fine, she could be trusting. She'd keep her eyes shut. It wasn't all that hard to... What the heck was he doing?! ... ummm ... right, trusting. -- But still, what took him so long? 

At length Duncan returned. Surely he had only been gone for an instant, but with her eyes closed faithfully it had seemed much longer. He took one of her hands and put something into in. Fine, thin fabric. Silk. A scarf?  
Oh. Probably a blind-fold. She moved to put it on, but he stopped her. The silk slipped from her fingers. 

"That's _my_ job".  
He took both her hands and very slowly began to bind them. Had she wanted it, she would have had plenty of opportunities to escape the silken bonds. But with a beating heart she allowed for her wrists to be bound and tied to some part of the bed.  
Not that she hadn't played this game with Duncan before. But the initiative had come from _her_. 

Now another scarf was used as a blind-fold. Oh yes, and that had been different, too: either bonds or blind-folds, never both. 

"Is that what you wanted?" Duncan's caring voice asked and crushed the trace of fear that had been lurking at the far end of her conscious. 

Amanda smiled. 

Warm, gentle fingers began to follow the contours of her body. At first their contact was only skin-deep, thin and light and tickling, but then it thickened, grew definite. His hands massaged her muscles and whispered to them of eroticism and passion and dark promises. Suddenly her flesh seemed full of nerve endings that led directly to her center. And there, in her center, they sparked and rendered something hot and brittle. 

And then his weight returned at last. He was rolling over her, landing between her legs. He kissed her breast, her nape, her chin and then claimed her mouth. For a moment she was all mouth, filled by his demanding tongue.  
His lips and tongue asked her a million questions and stole their answers in one motion. In that one kiss she gave away more than she had in over three centuries. Sorrows. Fears. Unspeakable things. 

When Duncan released her mouth, he left a sweet sadness and longing in his wake. It would have been unbearably frustrating, hadn't she known there was more to come. 

But what was to come? Duncan was removing himself again, she completely lost contact. Where was he? She could sense his presence, he was very close. But where? 

Amanda began to test her bonds. Could she sit up? No, her tied hands prevented it. ... What if she rolled back over her shoulder? 

"Don't," he stopped her, one hand holding her left ankle in place. "Don't deny me your beauty."   


  


##  Intermezzo

  


Again he saw the reaction confirmed: Something inside Amanda that would normally have closed off, today did not. To the contrary, she was opening up to him like a blossoming rose whenever he took the lead now.  
There was still a slight hint of fear in her posture, but she even seemed to relish it. It breathed the flame of her passion to life, if anything. Clearly it wasn't the flattery in his words that had done that. It was the controlling grip on her ankle. That had made her melt. 

Obviously Amanda needed him to take the plunge for her, to push her on. On to unfamiliar territory. 

_Bingo._

He drew the leather belt from his trousers and put it around her ankle to replace his hand. Then he tied the loose end to the bed. It was too short for a double knot and would soon give way. _Never mind._ He sat on it. 

She liked being teased, didn't she? 

"I'll be right back." He went to the kitchen, found a tray and loaded it unsystematically with things. He returned to Amanda, set the tray on the floor and chuckled at her half-hearted try to loosen her bonds. "I've got a few more preparations to make. If you untie yourself, we're not going to play. It's entirely up to you, Amanda." 

Amanda pouted, but stopped wiggling. 

_Hmmm, that was too easy._

Duncan stepped closer and tickled her. Very lightly. Only enough to tease. She sucked in her breath to get just barely out of his finger's reach. Again he touched her, tickling her enough to make her move. When she did, he slid a tickling finger all along her side, slowly and relentlessly. A moment later she began to wriggle, and finally even kick. 

He stopped short. "Uh-uh," he reprimanded grinningly. "Be careful." He saw her catch her breath, her lips quivering with expectation. "You don't want to untie yourself, do you?" 

Uncharacteristically demure, Amanda lowered her head and shook it. 

"Good. Take a few moments to think of a fantasy you haven't told me about." A sensual smile crept into her features. "I want you to tell me about it later." Was that Amanda looking scandalised? Ooooh, this was promising! 

##  **Mind**

  


_"Open your eyes," she heard Methos in her head._

"I can't," she replied. 

His voice was completely devoid of pity. "Awww," he teased amusedly. "So you can't help being a bad girl?" 

"I'm not bad, it's not even my fault!" she pleaded. 

"You **don't** want to be a bad girl?" he inquired in that intriguing, husky tone. "Did you hear that, Duncan?" 

Duncan's mouth was right beside her ear. "Is that true, my love?" 

Amanda smiled languorously.   


What a pity Duncan would not call her that. 

Another image took shape in her mind: Duncan's fingernails scratching over Methos' back.  
No, better not go there. She was too tempted to tell him about that one. And Duncan wasn't exceptionally good at taking certain things as lightly as she meant them. No, no, no, better return to safer ground. _  
_

Scent. The scent of roses, and the rush of cold water. It was ages ago... 

Literally. Even ages ago before Duncan had been born. More than a millennium ago. At that time, she had dreamed of a warrior of the light to rescue her. (In a way, she had already met one - but Rebecca hadn't exactly been the warrior Amanda had dreamed of.) 

She remembered clearly how the scent of nearby rosebushes had engulfed her as she dove and then came up for air. It was only a little river, and she was quite alone. And that was when she had dreamed of a man in a shining armour rescuing her from drowning ... well, of course she could swim well enough to fake drowning at the time, couldn't she? Yes, probably ... So, she would get herself rescued and whisked away to a royal château...  
She shoved aside the thought of stealing the silver and the jewels of her rescuer's wife. In such dreamy moments she hadn't thought even of that. Well, rarely.

... A man in shining armour rushed to her side on his raven-black mount. He leaned down, caught her arm and pulled her out of the water. He laid her across his thighs, head and feet hanging down on either side of the stallion. 

He carried her up the steps to his castle, to a room that belonged to one of the maids. Here they would get some privacy. "Undress," the man gruffly ordered when he realised she wasn't unconscious. He watched her. Watched her intently and with an air of authority. 

Just like Methos had. 

Meeting his eyes, she stripped. Her scant clothes were cold and wet. His hands, however, that now explored her body, were warm. They felt almost overheated on her goosebump-ridden skin. 

The man massaged her skin, his hands covered in precious rose oil. He rubbed it into her back, her belly, her breasts, her thighs,... He took possession of her body as a matter of course, as a man of his standing would. Kings were given what they wanted, and in return they would often be generous. The one in her dreams always was...   


It had admittedly been not the hottest fantasy out there. 

All of a sudden, another idea befell her and robbed her of her breath like a huge wave burying her. It coursed through her in a heady rush, it washed through her lungs and produced fluttering little waves inside her belly, while flooding her mind with images.   


_Duncan was holding her from behind, she could not move. Methos was in front of her and..._

Those eyes. They were laughing. He wasn't mocking, but his eyes were laughing at her. How could two impenetrable dark eyes exude such fire? Such power? Such hot coldness? How could they possibly touch her in places they didn't even bother to direct their gaze at? How could these calmly sardonic eyes rush sprays of lightning through her belly and turn a mere spark into a firestorm?   


##  **Body**

  


Finally, Duncan returned, with a second tray that held still more things that would make for interesting play. If you wanted to pique Amanda's interest and launch her on unfamiliar ground, you had to be pretty creative. Well, he'd see how he fared, this time. 

Amanda looked relaxed. Almost a little too relaxed. Was she bored? 

Ah, no, now she moved, and her cheeks seemed flushed. She looked like she would have a very interesting fantasy to tell. However, that would have to wait a little longer. 

He set down the tray beside the first one, retrieved a few small off-white objects and popped one into his mouth. Satisfied, he ordered, "Open your mouth."  
Amanda did as she had been told, which felt odd. He took another, noticing the curiously distorted surface. Holding it between thumb and index finger, he set it against her lips and let her feel the odd shape. She opened her mouth further. Duncan slid the little bite along the inner rim of her lips, where millions of nerve-endings were waiting to identify what they encountered. When Amanda giggled happily, he held still. "Take it. Taste it and tell me what it is." 

Amanda’s lips closed around it. She sucked it in. She seemed to be rolling it in her mouth, wholly concentrated on taste and consistency. 

When she did not reply, he continued, "If you can tell me what it is, you will get a surprise."  
Amanda licked her lips. "And if I can’t?" 

"Then, I think, I should get a surprise," he chuckled. 

"Awww," she pouted playfully. After another moment’s hesitation, she bit on what he had given her. "It’s a ... a nut?" 

"What sort of nut?" he teased. 

"Oh," she responded, at a loss. "Is it European?" He answered the question with pointed silence. "Oh, come on Duncan, a little hint?" 

No, he could not give in now. If he was to take the lead, he had to take it properly. "You’ll just have to risk a guess." 

Again she hesitated, then she hazarded a guess, indeed: "Cashew?" 

He tipped a finger on her nose. "Wrong." She grinned. "I want my surprise a little later. First I’d like you to try this again." He leaned over and his hand hovered above the array of kitchen utensils he had brought over. Which one would have the desired effect? Oh, yes, this looked fun. "Give it a go with this." 

Amanda shrunk away from the cold metal. 

"Hold still," he told her, deliberately authoritative. "Trust me." He turned the object around, into a safer position and slid it across her belly. Amanda gasped.  
Duncan stroked her reassuringly where the cold metal had just made her freeze. "Trust me," he repeated. 

His left hand rested across her belly-button. He could feel her breath slow down again. 

"Once more: Hold still," he told her again. Watching her attentively, he lifted the right hand and with the utensil touched her abdomen. He turned it and with the sharp side scratched lightly over the sensitive skin. Surely this was clue enough? 

"A blade," Amanda exclaimed. She seemed both excited and in fear. It took some willpower to stop himself from withdrawing the large kitchen knife. She was still not panicking. And she had, after her own fashion, been serious about it when she had told him to go "all the way". So there was but one answer possible. 

"What kind of blade?" It wasn’t too difficult, was it? 

"A knife." 

"What knife?" 

She shook her head and shrugged, since her bonds allowed no more expressive gesture. "Kitchen knife?" 

He smirked. No, it hadn't been too difficult. "You’ve won a surprise." 

She grinned. "I hope not the sort of surprise I just had?"  
"You’ll see." He reached for a large cup filled with a dark red fluid, and a spoon. He lifted it gingerly, careful not to spill the hot liquid. After tasting it and finding it cooled down enough, he gave Amanda a spoonful of it. 

At first she looked doubtful, but when she swallowed, surprise registered in her features. "Glühwein?"  
Glühwein -- red wine, heated, sweetened, and supplemented with fruits and spices. A winter treat they had discovered together, just before the second World War. 

"Remember what we did with it?" He took another spoonful of the heated wine and dropped it into her belly-button. 

Judging by her grin, Amanda remembered only too clearly. Immediately she began to move her abdominal muscles. Duncan watched fascinatedly as she navigated a drop of the dark red liquid lower. Yes, she actually managed to make it reach her pubic hair! She must have practised since the last time they had played this game. He bent forward and let his tongue catch the dark sweetened fluid, ere it reached the sheets. 

Apparently the wine or his tongue tickled her, for Amanda giggled and squirmed, trying to close her legs. But unlike his usual reaction, Duncan did not make way. Instead, he firmly pushed her legs even further apart, making her gasp, and lapped at her private parts once more. 

As he spoke he noticed that his voice was huskier now. "How do you like your surprise?" 

Amanda did not reply. 

"Speak, Amanda. Tell me truthfully." 

Again she just grinned and bit her lip. 

She was provoking him. He knew what she wanted, only he didn’t want to go there. He wasn’t Methos. But then, he had tricks of his own up his sleeve. "Amanda, you’re trying to manipulate me. It’s not working." He rose and knelt by the tray. "And if I were you, I’d stop that right away." 

"Why?" she asked with that teasingly innocent undertone. 

"Because." He set one foot on the belt that held her slender ankle and took up a glass bowl filled with ice-cubes, which he emptied onto her belly. 

Amanda shrieked. In a split-second of shock she fought against her bonds, but when she realised what this was, she calmed down. Still panting, she conceded grudgingly, "I suppose I deserved that." 

"You did. So?" 

Clearly she was on the verge of anger. "What?" 

Something in her voice, however, told him to insist on an answer, "How did you like your surprise?" 

"I _HATE_ being cold!" 

"I’m not talking about the ice, and you know that." Why did she like him to talk like a school-teacher, anyway? Oh, never mind, as long as she enjoyed herself. "Amanda, I’m waiting." 

She pouted.  
Since he did not react, she finally gave up. "I loved the Glühwein. And what you did with it." She even smiled. 

"Good girl." He rewarded her with a brief kiss and by scooping the ice-cubes up again with the glass bowl. Then he reached for the wine. He let her drink a little. She seemed to enjoy that. As she was finished, he asked, "Feeling better?" She nodded. "Then you can earn another surprise now." 

"Mmmm, good." She licked her lips. 

This time Duncan selected the little plastic bag he had filled with water and then made a knot into. "Let’s see. What is this?" 

Amanda’s breathing stopped for half a second as the cool plastic touched her. Almost immediately she guessed, "Water?" 

He’d have to try and make this tougher to guess. "Does it feel like water?" 

She hesitated. "N... Not really. I'm not wet, am I? Sounds different, too." Suddenly she grinned excitedly. "Oh, I know! I know that sound! It's plastic." 

"Very good," he chuckled at her child-like joy. "You are right. You sure deserve a surprise for that one."  
Another glass-bowl was lifted from the tray. It held ice-cream with a spot of the hot raspberry sauce that had also helped flavour the Glühwein. He dipped a spoon into the vanilla ice-cream.  
"Open your mouth." 

Amanda did so quite meekly. 

"Taste." 

She was analysing rather than sensually enjoying it. "It tastes metallic. And ... sweet." 

"You don’t have to guess now." Duncan gave her a little more of the ice-cream, together with raspberry sauce. 

"Mmmmm." She was obviously trying to seduce him with her voice now. "I love raspberries." Should he succumb? No, probably not. Better explore some more of the alleys she had only just opened up to him. 

"I know." How could he possibly forget? 

With his little finger he tested the sauce. It wasn’t too hot, was it? No, it seemed fine to him. He plopped a spoonful of the hot sauce on Amanda’s breast. "How’s that?" 

Amanda winced, but she bit her lip and didn’t complain. Perhaps her skin was screaming alarm at her just like his own had under the sudden rush of hot water in the shower, only a few hours earlier. 

Well, he could remedy the too hot sauce... He chuckled. "Trust me, Amanda." He added a little ice-cream. 

This time Amanda bucked, taken by surprise. At the same time, she remained quiet, while her lips were quivering and her nostrils flaring. She wasn’t even frowning. No, by her quickened breath and flushed cheeks, she loved this unpredictable treatment. 

When she was still again, he bent over her and licked sauce and ice-cream from her breast until it was quite clean. Covering Amanda with his own body he moved forward and claimed her mouth again, sharing the sweet taste with her. He twisted to suck on the other breast for a moment, before kissing her again. 

At last he pulled back and brushed the blind-fold up over her forehead. "Look at me." She did. Yes, she was roused without a trace of fear or doubt. "How much further do you want to go?" 

She smiled a wicked smile. "Take me." 

"No," he teased, while his hand stole down to caress her private parts. "Besides, you still owe me a surprise." 

Amanda pouted. "How can I surprise you if I’m bound?" 

"Oh, I know: Tell me what you were thinking about while I was away." Oh yes, that WAS a scandalised look she was trying to hide. This was gonna be good! "Stop hedging, Amanda. Tell me." 

"I can’t." Her smile was just a tad too bright. She wasn’t being honest. 

"Why not?" 

"If I did, you’d take my head." 

He just looked at her. Amanda wasn’t stupid. She’d realise quickly enough he wasn’t having any of this. Ah, yes, a glimmer of acknowledgement. She was about to give in. 

When she continued, however, her words hit him like a bolt from the blue: "Or Methos’ head." 

_Oh._ He hadn’t taken her brief fling with Methos seriously. He had expected it to be like the flings she had had with countless others, mortals and Immortals alike, between returning to his side. And now this.   


##  Intermezzo

  


Amanda could see that she had, after all, said the wrong thing. Why couldn’t she have kept her mouth shut? Oh well, she’d have to improvise. If only she weren’t tied to the bed... Besides, being tied was no good anyway. This set-up fit neither him nor herself.  
_Oh, drat those bonds!_ Now she couldn’t even reach out to him save by means of her voice. "Duncan!" 

"It’s alright." His voice sounded odd. "Just tell me." His drooping eyes were nearly closed, she could not make out their expression. Did he really mean that? 

"But..." 

"Please, tell me the fantasy that made you smile." By the sound of his voice, he was serious, indeed. It was almost an order. Should she, could she give in? 

_Win time, Amanda, win time!_ "Duncan, are you sure you want to know?" 

Again he gave her that you-should-know-me-better-than-to-try-this look. Gods, how she hated that! Alright then, if he thought he could take it, let him...  
No. Duncan was too young to ... For all his protectiveness, he was still far less than half her age! A cute little boy. He wasn’t ready. Not for this. 

" _AMANDA!_ " 

Closing her eyes, she shook her head, pretending at impatience. Perhaps if he couldn’t see her eyes, she’d get away with it? "An old fantasy, Duncan. About a king rescuing me and... You wouldn’t understand." 

"What about Methos?" Oh good, he was swallowing it. Now, what to answer? 

Oh, of course, a classic: "I was pulling your leg, Mac." 

"The truth, Amanda." 

_Damn._ She’d thought she had pulled wool over his eyes, but Duncan just knew her too well for comfort. So, there was but one way left. The truth. "You wouldn’t understand, Duncan. I meant that." 

"Try me." His baritone was both sombre and cocky. Funny, she’d never before realised you could be both at the same time. 

In contrast, her own voice seemed to rise in pitch. She wasn’t losing her touch, was she? "I don’t have to try you, I already know you!" 

"I'd thought I’d known you too, before tonight." _Oh dear. Not that beaten tone._

A groan rose from deep in her gut. She knew where this discussion was leading. Better get it over and done with. "Alright, alright, Duncan. But I tell you, you’re not going to like it." 

"I know." 

"It was about ..." It was embarrassing enough to admit this to herself, and doubly so to say it aloud. Oh well, she’d been called shameless so often, she’d better try and fit the description.

"About Methos", Duncan was supplying.

"And you and me." There you had it: Duncan’s eyebrows were going up. Now he’d want to know everything. What _could_ she tell him? Oh, of course: "And you were calling me your love."

Duncan smiled. "And the part you left out is...?"

She braced herself. "You went further than you would in reality..."

"And that’s all?" At her nod, he looked rather disappointed. "You do realise that it’s just a fantasy, do you?" Thank goodness, he was being reasonable for a change! Good thing he had no idea _how_ much further he had gone in her mind. 

"Sorry." 

"Sorry?" He looked perplexed. Good. There was nothing more useful than a minor shock. Somehow, it usually made people believe you. 

"I’d hoped it would be a better surprise." _Ooooh, that gives me an idea!_ She grinned and continued, "But if you untie me, I’ll make up for it."   


  


##  **2 Bodies**

  


Tired as he was getting of playing a more dominant lover than he had ever been, Duncan was only too happy to set her free. After rubbing and moving her shoulders a little, Amanda immediately transformed into the delightful seductress he had always known her to be. She neared him on all fours, and kissed his ... no, not quite his lips. At the last moment, she delved to his right cheek. He chuckled. 

She did it again: moved towards his lips, then suddenly changed direction like a curve ball. This time, she placed a tiny lick on his neck. The next time, she sucked on his left earlobe. And the next time... He anticipated her motion and kissed her full on the lips. 

His hand followed her arm up its length. Around the shoulder. Finally it came to rest around her neck. He drew her closer, a gesture that had often caused a slight tension in her. Today he could pull her closer with all the passion within him. Good, good, it felt good. No, actually it felt like utter heaven. To kiss her like this, with true abandon.   
Amanda broke free of the kiss. "That was..." While her ecstatic features spoke volumes, she didn’t bother to complete the sentence and simply kissed him again. Less playful, even more passionate. 

His arms closed around her slim body. Suddenly he couldn’t contain himself, his kiss attacked her like a hungry lion. He returned her own passion with a storm-tide of raw emotion that ran through him as sheer energy, rolled onto her like a spreading fire, pushed her back physically. A dam had broken within him, much as one had broken within her. Now primal energy flowed freely, rushed through their veins as though they might be but one person. 

Then, at last, Duncan got a grip on himself and pulled back. Just a little. Just enough to look into her eyes. Yes, all was fine. "Amanda?" 

"Hmm?" 

He couldn’t help grinning. "I love my surprise." 

She grinned back, unabashedly touching his centre. "Hold that thought. Because you haven’t seen half of it yet." Her expression changed. "Come to think of it... where is that blind-fold? It’s my turn to use it, isn’t it?" 

On consideration, why not? He moved backwards to find the thin slip of silk. It had slid down on the floor. 

When he turned around, he saw Amanda gathering up the two other pieces, which he had used for binding her hands. Hmmm, what was she planning to do? Tie him to the bed and then take his credit card and go shopping? He grinned. No, not today. Today she wanted to steal something else. His power. She wanted to retaliate. _Good._ After all, if there was one thing he could trust her in, it was in bed. 

For the moment, she only used the blindfold. It was strange that such a little slip of fabric could magnify your perception in all respects. Of course it would intensify his sense of touch and hearing. But more than that, you also noticed shadows and slight changes in brightness that made it through the blindfold and your eyelids. 

Amanda guided his hands to his back, but she didn’t bind them yet. Instead, she just started opening the buttons of his satin shirt, one after the other. As his hairy chest was exposed, she placed little kisses on it, one below the other. As she went lower, he leaned back automatically. 

When she reached his waist, she opened the fly of his trousers, while she kissed his nipples. Once more she started at his throat and placed kiss after kiss on his hairy chest down the length of his torso. By the time she reached his private parts, she had freed him of all clothing. So she just went on, one little kiss after the other was set on his shaft, spiralling towards the top and ...  
He heard Amanda’s giggle. "You said you didn’t want your surprise right away, didn’t you?" The little kisses were now spiralling down without quite reaching the top of his tool. What a tease she was! He couldn't help but grin. 

"You know, I think I should make you buck a little, too, " Amanda told him thoughtfully. She took one of his hands, turned it palm-up. Now she kissed each finger-tip. Then the soft spot between each pair of fingers. He could feel her nose touching the finger as she did. 

Then she laid his hand on her shoulder. Strange. What did she want with it there? 

Now she took hold of his other hand. Again she kissed the fingertips, again the little crevices between the fingers. Then she put it on top of his other hand. 

By the metal clinking and the feel of something broad closing around his wrists he could tell that she was binding him with his own leather belt. She guided him back and tied the belt to something. Hopefully not to the lamp on his bed table. He tested its hold gingerly. No, she had remembered that hidden little hook... Good, now he could relax and rely on the belt to take the brunt of his "bucking" – whatever Amanda had meant by that.   
Suddenly he noticed that he had lost contact to her. Next, he could feel the mattress lifting beside him as she rose. Almost immediately her Immortal presence grew lighter.   
He heard something wooden move to his right. Maybe a drawer? A door – that had to be the little wardrobe above the drawers now. Or was it? What would she want with the TV set in there? Its doors creaked as it was shut again. While he was wondering what she might be doing, Amanda returned.   
As she was stepping closer, the sense of danger she automatically instilled in him grew more urgent again. A deep wooden noise at the foot of the bed: Obviously she was opening the large trunk in which he kept flannel shirts and other clothing items he didn’t need too often. This time, there was a low satisfied murmur from Amanda.   
Her clothes rustled and the mattress bobbed. She seemed to have sat down beside his legs. Or something.   
A feathery touch tickled Duncan’s heel. He moved it slightly and found his ankle captured by soft fabric. Ah, she wanted to bind him proper. Of course. He meekly allowed himself to be bound until he could barely move.  
  
Suddenly Amanda giggled, "Ooh, you’ve left all those toys here for me!" By the loud "bonk" noise he could tell she had shut the lid of the trunk. Lying across his legs now , she was obviously reaching for one of those toys. He could hear it scratch over the wood of the tray and clunk against glass. Or crockery or some such brittle material.  
  
Hmmm, that sounded suspiciously like the kitchen knife? What did she want with a knife? He felt his entire body go stiff. Literally his _entire_ body.  
  
"Well, hello, little man!" Amanda was purring, while she rose and took a firm hold of Duncan’s member. Something cool and hard touched it. The knife. The broad side of the blade. "Don’t lose your head, little fellow." He could almost see her malicious grin.  
  
The lower side of his tool was enveloped by hot, supporting fingers, the upper side encountered the subtle friction of cold steel. It felt good. Actually, it felt ominous, and frighteningly good. The contrast made his loins throb.  
  
He noticed he was pulling on his bonds without intending it. He wanted... He _MUST_ have her. Must find satisfaction. Please?  
  
When he felt the blade turn toward the sensitive skin, fear surged through him. No, he must not move, he must not move! With a conscious effort he relaxed his muscles. The only thing that rendered this bearable was sheer willpower holding on to the trust he had in the woman holding the knife. The hope that eventually she would give him what he needed.  


The blade scratched down the length of the shaft, then its touch disappeared. Half a second later it was replaced by wet warmth sliding upwards again. Her tongue made its slippery way straight to the tip of his member. Helpless, Duncan groaned his desire. 

"Ready for your surprise, Duncan?" Amanda’s voice asked him all of a sudden. 

No matter what she might have in store for him, he... For a weird split-second the thought _*Don’t let this be Methos entrance!*_ ricocheted through his blurred mind, and then there was no thought beyond saying yes. Gods, he desperately longed for release. Any release, perhaps. "YES!" 

Heat exploded onto his member. Was she... What was she doing there, at the base as well? Oh, blast, what did it matter? 

With but half his mind he noticed that she was freeing his legs now, while hot lava sucked on his already throbbing member. 

Then suddenly the heat was gone and light blinded him, as the blind-fold was impatiently brushed off his face. Amanda kissed him. She tasted faintly soapy, but he paid no heed. Meanwhile, one of her hands freed his arms. At last he could reach for her slip body, crush her against his chest, take her head between his hands and ... 

_Yes! Oh, yes!_

Still kissing, she was lowering herself onto his tool. As she sank down, she was making small noises, little gasps and moans. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes glazed over, her pupils enlarged. Clearly, she was more than just roused. "Take me," she whispered into his ear. He could ask nothing better. His arms and legs supporting her as much as her own shapely knees, he rocked her up and down. "Take me!" she repeated more urgently, her grin a challenge. 

His body was driving into her with mindless energy, answering to the challenge. Amanda was groaning and encouraging him. And then, all of a sudden, she felt her vagina close tightly around his member. One, two, three, four pulsing contractions, that brought him to the edge, so very close... The pulsing subsided, but Amanda still urged him on. 

Once more he kissed her, but soon he broke for air. As he did, a spasm went through his body and finally he, too, reached his orgasm. 

When his mind cleared, he noticed there were tears in his eyes. He lifted his head and smiled at Amanda, so she could see them. “Thank you. That was ... utterly beautiful.” 

She grinned back and joked, “Yeah, you didn’t do too badly, either.” 

He was too tired to even tickle her for that one. Little later, they fell asleep, snuggled together, while in a glass-bowl on the floor, some lovely vanilla ice-cream was melting.   
  


  


## Epilogue: **Soul**

  


The concert was over. As Methos left, the singer’s voice returned in his mind, once more addressing death, _"Du schleichst so lautlos wie ein Tier. Welcher Fluch treibt dich zu mir?" –- You sneak as noiselessly as an animal. What curse drove you to near me?_  
In the blind, furious desperation Methos understood so well, the voice proceeded to threaten death itself with revenge, _"Noch über den Wolken und unter dem Meer, hinter all deinen Sünden werd ich dich finden " –- Even above the clouds and underneath the sea, behind all your sins I shall find you._

Strange that so far he had thought solely of Alexa. 

These words also fit another part of his past, far longer gone now. The Methos he had been long ago. For once upon a time he himself had been Death. Once upon a time, he had deserved to be cursed and hunted like that, perhaps. If anyone deserved to be hunted, that was. 

And then things had changed, until he had at last grown into a healer. He had learnt to heal people’s bodies. And now, for Amanda, he had even managed to heal what went beyond it. He had come a long way, in the past few millennia. 

And Alexa?  
Her death had inflicted a wound that would leave scars. But he would live, and grow stronger. He would fight the pain for another day, and heal. While love could mar you, love also was a healer. 

He, too, was ready. 

  



	3. Aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the mild-mannered aftermath of the previous stories (chapters).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The quoted song lyrics of "Unter dem Meer" belong to In Extremo (very interesting German band). Like the characters and universe, I only borrowed them for the fun of it, without any intention of making money or infringing on these people's rights.

MacLeod and "Adam Pierson" were playing chess.  
   
When Amanda had stomped out of his loft and flown back to Paris after a series of small quarrels, Duncan had been left with an unusually strong desire to get to play more.  
Naturally he had also sought Joe’s and "Adam’s" company, but somehow combining those two innocent pleasures was not as simple and straightforward a matter as he would have wished.  
   
Joe, for one, was a keen, but none too good player, even for a mortal. Duncan sometimes humoured him by letting him win, though that was not very relaxing, either. Perhaps Joe was just too much of an All-American kid.  
   
Methos on the other hand, was a very reluctant chess partner. It had taken some persuading to get him to play tonight, and indeed, he didn’t seem to enjoy it much. While Duncan often thought long before he reached for the pieces, the older Immortal had countered his moves with casual speed almost every time.  
Right now, however, even he was hesitating. MacLeod congratulated himself on the last move. It had been rather good.  
   
"I envy you, Duncan," Methos told him, his tone a little melancholic.  
   
"You do?"  
   
The older man’s queen wandered a square and he announced, "Checkmate in eight moves. … Yes, I do."  
   
"Oh." He hadn’t seen that coming. But… Oh. Yes. Methos was right. "I see."  
Yes, of course Methos was right. Wasn’t he always? About chess, at any rate. Apparently he had just been bored, even though Duncan had tried hard to be a worthy opponent.  
   
"And why would you envy me?"  
   
A faint smile graced the other’s thin lips. "You just made that move for the first time, didn’t you?" At Duncan’s nod, he continued, "You have so many first times left."  
   
Hmm. So all of a sudden they were really _talking_ again, not just chatting and spending time together. Good. Maybe he’d be able to bring up Amanda’s strange hints later. In the past weeks "Adam" had kept him at arm’s length, and their respective musical tastes had been the most personal thing they’d talked about. Well, Amanda had to wait.  
"On the upside, you have memories a world of historians would kill for."  
   
"Thanks for the pleasant thought," Adam grinned sarcastically. Yeah, if you thought about it, it had perhaps not been a frightfully good way of putting it.  
   
"Sorry."  
   
Methos smirked, but didn’t reply.  
   
A long silence followed that Duncan dared not break.  
   
Eventually, Methos spoke. "Say it."  
   
"Pardon?"  
What the heck was the matter now?  
   
"Whatever you were going to say. I take it it’s about Amanda?"  
   
 _*Blasted mind-reader!*_ Duncan thought. Methos seemed to do that more and more often. It was uncanny.  
Anyhow, he was right. Again. MacLeod considered his words for a moment, then asked, "What happened?"  
   
"I just made her let you be yourself for a change."  
   
"I don’t understand!" By Jove, how could he? Methos was talking in riddles!  
   
Another faint smile, but this time in combination with twinkling half-closed eyes. "You don’t have to."  
   
Anger rose in him, both at his own apparent stupidity and the ancient Immortal’s amused restraint. "Methos!"  
   
The other man rolled his eyes. "I made sure her angst didn’t bother her as much."  
   
Duh, what a surprise. "So I noticed. How?"  
   
The question was met with another question. "What is more frightening, battling another Immortal or running from battle?"  
   
"I…" What a stupid question was _that_? "I don’t know. To me, running, I suppose."  
   
"Correct. It’s the same in this case. All I had to do was stop her from running." He shrugged.  
   
"But…" Great Scott, did he really want to say that? "You…" No, saying only ‘You had an impact on her’ was cowardly. He owed Methos more than that. "She’s been fantasizing about… you."  
   
The other man grinned, unconcerned. "That’s flattering." His grin widened and grew mischievous. "But to be honest, you can keep her. She’s a bit too old for my taste."  
   
Duncan’s eyes widened. "Don’t let her hear that. She’d take your head, no matter how much she owes you. You know that."  
   
Methos shook his head, "Don’t worry, Mac." He winked. "I also know how to duck."  
   



End file.
